


Kick it Up and Down, Take a Chance on Me

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Baby Padawans, Canon - Comics, Gen, Melida/Daan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting with Qui-Gon's first apprentice provides Obi-Wan with rare glimpses into his Master's past, and offers hints towards their future together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick it Up and Down, Take a Chance on Me

**Author's Note:**

> The Jedi: The Dark Side, Volume 1 comic compendium canonizes Qui-Gon's having an apprentice before Xanatos called Feemor (heh heh). The idea of him eventually meeting up with baby Padawan Obi-Wan gave me a lot of fat feelings, and so. Title and section headers come from Mika's "Kick Ass."

_we're not looking for where we belong_

He's an unobtrusive man, fair-haired and not very tall, and while he does not so much as interrupt them - they've only just finished taking breakfast together in the Temple cafeteria, after all, so there is little to interrupt - his presence is nonetheless unexpected. "Master Qui-Gon?" they both hear, and the tone is incredulous and delighted. Obi-Wan watches his Master's slow turn-around, and stares at the non-intruder curiously. 

"Feemor!"

"I thought that was you." The Padawan watches the two men embrace, a twinge of jealousy bubbling in his stomach (or perhaps that's the eggs). Briefly, he entertains the notion of being wizened, cherished enough by Qui-Gon Jinn for his Master to embrace him in such a fashion, to elicit the easy-going joy that now marks Qui-Gon's rugged features. The hugging and back-patting seem excessive, at the very least.

Qui-Gon swivels his head then, perhaps, Obi-Wan thinks, chagrined, because his pettiness has infiltrated their training bond; his Master's expression is placid, however. "Feemor, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he offers, gesturing, and bowing tears Obi-Wan's eyes away from Qui-Gon's face when he adds, "my Padawan."

"Well, well," Feemor says, and his own face is open and friendly, his smile wide. "About time," he teases, but it's not quite the same admonishing tone that Master Tahl takes sometimes with Qui-Gon, the one that leaves him grumpy and (almost, though he would never admit it) grumbling. Age and rank gives Tahl the ability to take the piss out of one of her dearest friends; Feemor, conversely, is unwaveringly deferential, even though Obi-Wan suspects him to be old enough to have trained a Padawan or two on his own. Sure enough: "I was beginning to wonder if I'd catch up with you," he says, and Obi-Wan wonders whether Qui-Gon will tell him sternly in response that collecting Padawans is hardly a competition, but his Master simply inclines his head. 

Next, Feemor speaks to him: "You must be very special to draw this old hermit crab out of retirement." There's nothing in Feemor's character or disposition, no judgment in his voice, to suggest that Feemor intends it as anything but a compliment, and yet, Obi-Wan can only half-nod, embarrassed. It's been scant weeks since Melida/Daan, even less since the most recent disaster involving Xanatos, and, Qui-Gon's somewhat hesitant use of his title aside, he's not sure precisely where they stand. And though Feemor's unwavering friendliness is a welcome contrast to his Master's solemnity, Obi-Wan suspects him to take in more than his plain-faced demeanor suggests. Deep down, he frets that Qui-Gon's friend - a former apprentice, another one, one who didn't fall, and he's not sure if that makes what Xanatos did better or not - sees right through him, knows, in fact, that he's not particularly special at all.

A small chirping sound initiates Qui-Gon's brief rummaging through a pocket, which eventually produces a commlink. "It appears I've been called away unexpectedly," he notes after squinting at the device's miniscule screen. "My apologies for my brevity, Feemor." He turns to Obi-Wan. "Is there somebody you can practice sparring with this afternoon, Obi-Wan?" he queries. "I believe I will be held up most of the afternoon."

"I can seek out Garen, Master," Obi-Wan nods, though he cannot help but feel somewhat disappointed. His instinct is to ask whether he, too, can be of service, but uncertainty - not to mention, fear of laying bare the dysfunction in his and Qui-Gon's relationship to this stranger - stays his tongue. He bows again shortly and prepares to leave.

"Actually," Feemor says suddenly, and he freezes. "My own Padawan's recent Knighting has cleared my foreseeable schedule rather dramatically. I would be happy to spend some time with your apprentice," he adds, and then winks. "If that is agreeable to Obi-Wan as well, of course."

Obi-Wan blinks in surprise. "Yes, okay," he gets out, and Qui-Gon's expression is warm as he looks between them. "Master, I can come over later and you can tell me about your meeting, maybe?"

Qui-Gon chuckles. "You can come over later, at least," he says, and Obi-Wan nods happily after the invitation. The commlink beeps again and his Master sighs, makes a conciliatory gesture at Feemor, and turns to leave. "Enjoy one another's company," he calls behind him, and they both gaze lingeringly after him until he's out of eyesight.

*

 

_and we're running with blood on our knees_

Feemor's amiable nature upholds, but he proves himself to be more than a worthy opponent in the training salles. Shorter than Qui-Gon by nearly a head, he and Obi-Wan are much more evenly matched. Likewise, Feemor shows himself to be a formidable fan, and critic, of Soresu. "Tighter," he says when Obi-Wan makes a too-sweeping gesture, and "good" when he efficiently parries an attack. After nearly three hours, they bow to one another, the formal show of respect muddied by Feemor slugging a brotherly, and slightly sweaty, arm over his shoulders. "You work very hard, Obi-Wan," he offers, and Obi-Wan flushes at the compliment. "Perhaps throw in a bit more of Form III alongside all the Ataru, and you'll be an unstoppable force."

Obi-Wan nods. "Master Qui-Gon prefers Ataru," he explains, and then realizes quickly that, of course, Feemor must know that. "Sometimes I think it's very energetic, though," he adds, and Feemor's mouth quirks.

"It's an awful lot of spinning and jumping." He runs a hand through his short mane. "I suspect Qui-Gon puts up a lot of lip service about why it's important, though."

"He says it's a good way to channel my aggression," Obi-Wan agrees.

"Ah, yes," Feemor dead-pans. "That's classic Qui-Gon-speak for, 'Gundarks are less stubborn than I am.'" It's an amusing - and true, Obi-Wan thinks - critique, but all the same, he's not sure whether he's allowed to laugh at it. His expression must give him away, however, because Feemor raps him lightly on the back again.

"Smile, Obi-Wan. I won't tell, I promise." 

Obi-Wan grins.

*

 

_when you fake a smile and you think you're better_

They opt for lunch outdoors, in a spot that makes Obi-Wan think of his Master. "I came here for the first time with him," Feemor tells him, and lets Obi-Wan divide up their food.

Feemor is easy to talk to, as it happens, and full of anecdotes about Qui-Gon besides. Obi-Wan listens to them raptly, mentally repeating the details several times so that he can draw them up later. In between stories, Feemor peppers his speech with polite inquiries after Obi-Wan's age, and the particulars of his own apprenticeship. At one point, he studies Obi-Wan's braid and compliments him on his handful of merit beads. "It pleased me to learn that Qui-Gon had decided to take up teaching again," he offers eventually. "He was pretty gun-shy after his last Padawan."

"Xanatos," Obi-Wan murmurs, the name feeling both dirty and sacrosanct on his lips. "We've met," he volunteers. "He perished during our last encounter."

Feemor nods. "I know." When Obi-Wan looks at him quizzically, he smiles and gestures around them. "These walls have eager ears and many secrets," he explains, and then rubs his palms together briefly. "Xanatos," he repeats. "He was an ... interesting boy." 

"Did you know him well?" Obi-Wan ventures tentatively, curious and yet dreading the details.

Feemor shakes his head. "Our encounters were sporadic at best. He took an un-Jedi-like amount of pride in his noble lineage. I'm sure Qui-Gon tried to correct the behavior, but, well. He was never particularly welcoming to the son of a farmer," Feemor finishes diplomatically, and Obi-Wan tries to respond in kind.

"I don't understand how they got paired together," he suggests. In truth, he hopes that Feemor will say that it was a mistake, that the years Xanatos greedily sucked away from Qui-Gon were a fluke. Feemor's face turns somewhat dreamy, however, and his stomach lurches.

"Qui-Gon does not enter into a commitment lightly." Feemor's expression is distant now, his gaze upturned. "The Living Force itself pushed them together, as I'm sure it did the two of you." He regards the Padawan fondly, his head cocked. "Luminous beings are we, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nods, but his features quickly betray his upset. "What's wrong?" Feemor asks, and Obi-Wan draws his knees close to his chest, staring miserably down at the tips of his boots. Feemor's kindness is wasted on him, and now, he will know that without a doubt.

"It's just ... Qui-Gon didn't choose me," Obi-Wan explains softly. "Nobody did. Our paths crossed when I was on my way to the Agricorps. I helped him, and I think Master Yoda pressured him to take me on as his Padawan." Feemor's smile is replaced with obvious concern, a need to correct, to comfort, but Obi-Wan presses on. "And then there was another mission where I thought it was more important to stay and help rather than do my duty as a Jedi." He's speaking faster now, glossing over details that still pain him to admit aloud. "I disobeyed Qui-Gon, told him to leave without me, and he did. And I knew I'd made a mistake almost as soon as he was gone, and I got to come back, but it's not the same, and what if I hurt Qui-Gon just as bad as Xanatos did?" His voice is strained now, the lump in his throat threatening to explode. "He wasn't meant for me," he finishes. "I don't deserve him."

Cross-legged, hands on his knees, Feemor studies him solemnly. "You condemn yourself unnecessarily, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he says at last, and Obi-Wan's eyes widen skeptically. "Surely you don't take Qui-Gon for a fool." When Obi-Wan shakes his head, brow furrowed, Feemor smiles. "Then you must trust that he sees something there, something to shape, to take a chance on - even if you can't possibly understand what that might be. For the record," he adds in an almost haughty tone, eyebrow raised, "I think it's pretty obvious."

A soft breeze ruffles Obi-Wan's hair. "Luminous beings are we," he murmurs, humbled, and Feemor inclines his head.

*

 

_turn it upside down, just you and me_

Qui-Gon looks tired when he palms open the door from inside his own quarters; his graying temples seem to stand out more than usual, as do the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and Obi-Wan wonders vaguely how much more pronounced both will be by the time he's Knighted. In spite of this, Qui-Gon looks pleased to see him. "Come in," he greets, and Obi-Wan slips neatly inside. The small living area still smells of the tea Qui-Gon almost certainly made for himself today at dawn, and of the woodsy incense he sometimes burns during meditation sessions. Both are scents Obi-Wan has come to associate with his Master. For his part, Obi-Wan spends his nights in the Padawan dormitories; moving in with Qui-Gon, into the room across from Qui-Gon's private 'fresher whose door is always closed, is but a distant daydream, albeit hopefully not so distant. 

"Did you have a nice afternoon with Feemor?" Qui-Gon asks, and Obi-Wan nods graciously. At their initial meeting, he'd been unsure of whether to consider Qui-Gon's first apprentice a threat, an unachievable ideal to which his Master would forever compare him, against which he would always come up short. He knows now, however, that Feemor is more friend than foe, that if he can take anything away from their time together, it is not envy, but an aspiration to be able to assess both his gifts and limitations within the Force as easily and honestly as Feemor does. "What if the Jedi had never found you, or you had not been chosen by a Master for training in time?" Obi-Wan had asked him earlier in a particularly brazen moment. He would always remember how Feemor had sat back, steepling his fingers in careful, pleased consideration of Obi-Wan's inquiry.

"I suppose ... I would have been a farmer either way," Feemor had said at last. He'd smiled. "There are worse fates, wouldn't you say?"

Obi-Wan had nodded, but his eyes could not mask his doubt: "When I thought I was being sent to the Agricorps for good, it seemed like the end of the world," he admitted ruefully. It seemed rude somehow, but Feemor, ever understanding - would he ever learn to be that patient? - had just nodded.

"When the ability to choose is stripped from you, it can entangle even the most appealing paths." 

It sounded like something Qui-Gon might say. Obi-Wan had looked down then. "I wonder whether Master Qui-Gon feels entangled because of me." 

At this, Feemor had simply snorted. "Perhaps he simply finds you appealing." A moment passed, and, softer, he'd added: "He's a closed book, he always has been; Xanatos' betrayal only exacerbated that. If you are waiting for an overt proclamation of his feelings, I daresay you should not hold your breath. But know this, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he'd said then, and his eyes were suddenly the most brilliant blue Obi-Wan had ever seen; "if Qui-Gon calls you 'Padawan,' he has already chosen you."

In the present, Qui-Gon's hand on his shoulder startles him. "Obi-Wan?" his Master queries, perhaps for the second or third time, and Obi-Wan finally looks up, cheeks flushed. Not Feemor yet, then. 

"Padawan? What holds your attention?" Qui-Gon's hand on his head is surprisingly light; his fingers scrub through the short hairs near the boy's neck, sending pleasant shivers up Obi-Wan's spine. When his Master smiles, the creases near his eyes become laugh lines. They're beautiful, Obi-Wan thinks, and the Force ebbs with the warm affection between them. "Haven't you tired yet of my lecture to focus on the present?" Qui-Gon continues, and Obi-Wan intentionally widens his eyes.

"I am a slow learner, Master," he says, and the wry grin on Qui-Gon's face very soon matches his own.


End file.
